Sunrise.

This was a sonnet that I had to write for Intro. to Poetry. I really liked how it came out and I didn't revise it at all.

Sunrise

I see a sky full of beauty,
And of sadness untold
Taking care of the lost is its duty;
Its colors though, I still behold.
Holding onto those who have passed;
Those taken too soon or for reasons inhumane.
Photographs make their memory last,
Still, without them, I’m not the same.
As the sun rises, I look around,
To find a fading star that draws me in.
My sluggish eyes shut and I don’t hear a sound;
Thinking about what could have been.
To all, my best wishes as I end this prayer,
And love that I feel you in this cold, morning air.

The Bride.

This was when the hopeless romantic in me had an out-of-body experience and wrote a poem.

The Bride

A pearly dress flows to the ground, and in the
mirror I see a different me. Stray strands of hair
flow beside my pale, anxious skin, and I shield my
nervous eyes with a sheet of see-through satin, tickling
my arms as it settles. I grab a meticulously matched
bouquet of roses; a simple, pure white. I hold it to
my side as I take deep breaths in an imagined silence.
I bat my eyes and watch my eyeshadow shimmer,
trying to hold back rivers of happiness and joy.
“It’s time” I hear and I look towards the door; I slowly
breathe out and walk toward what has only been my dream.
Now all eyes are on me but I smile so wide,
because all I can see is him smiling back.

Fan Formalities.

This poem is a stylistic imitation of Lisa Jarnot's "Swamp Formalism", which is actually written to Donald Rumsfeld. We had to imitate a poem of hers for the Writers Reading Poetry Seminar, and I chose this, and wrote about the Red Sox during the 2007 ALCS when they came back against the Cleveland Indians.

Fan Formalities

As if they can’t believe,
Excited, anxious, with ears as if they heard
Everything in the park, in an
Anticipated way, with their widened
Headlight eyes, as if they were
Tired and scared and waiting
As if there were a hero or two or more
As if this isn’t over when it seemed
To be, outs count to 27 against green
Sturdy walls, as if from the
Grass that they graciously stand
And live through 38,000 as if
They are the team, like an
Unbreakable bond as if the
Stressful pain of useless error
In gloves that should make the play
As if it didn’t kill the fans, the
Pitcher, and the manager, as if the
Field and the ring were not
Diamond shaped and prized,
Allowing in the region, breathing
Sighs, in relief, in the
One October, and 3 years ago when
One October changed.

Quite the Lady (bug).

This was written as an exercise in Writers Reading Poetry Seminar, and was supposed to be repetitive; but I ended up changing some of the words in editing.

Quite the Lady (bug)

Red and dotted with symmetrical spots, making dotted
lines on leaves in May. When you’re seen, a squeal of joy presents,
as you continue dotting gardens with your microscopic toes.
Marching in an army of little red soldiers, I see
you as an army of one; defending Black Eyed Susans
with familiar spots of their own and protecting your
femininity with your simple name.

A Handsome Eye.

This poem was written for my Writers Reading Poetry Seminar, and it had to be an ode to something. I have edited it a lot since the first draft, and this is my final piece; for now.

A Handsome Eye

Nature’s grace is charging, legs pounding the
ground below. The tail’s turned into rivers as
the long, course, horsehair flows.
There’s a face that’s so intent, filled with honesty and
strength, and charging towards what is to come, while
shying from what was. It lifts itself to begin to fly
over obstacles in the way. It tucks its knees to ensure
it’s clearing them with ease. Then landing on the
other side, and moving on more clearly;
Its neck arches with a selfless pride, and flashes a
handsome eye as long legs keep it running
and it can leave the past behind.

I've wanted to do this for a while.

Something has clicked lately, and I'm finally taking the advice of so many creative writing professors. "Write," they say, and I am. And to even my surprise, most of my recent work and interest lies within a shocking genre; poetry.

In high school, my poetry was atrocious. I thought it had to rhyme, I thought it had to have an obnoxious rhythm, and just be corny as all hell. Luckily, coming to college has shown me otherwise, and I've actually become so inspired that I'm working on revising some poems that date back to my senior year of high school. Is it wrong, though, that I have this guilt trip that I haven't written a real piece of fiction in almost two years, when I used to seem so dedicated to it? I guess things change.

So the purpose of this blog; to finally share of my writing. Some people sound surprised when I express my love for writing, and after a lot of hard work, I want to show people what I'm really capable of. I know I'm no Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman, or even a Stephen King, but I have become content and sometimes downright happy with my work, and I want to put myself out there. I want the people who know me to see a different side of me, and to know that this really is one of my passions.

What I'm asking is for any feedback on anything I decide to post here. If you read something, please comment on it and tell me what you think. Constructive criticism helps me more than you'll ever know. I just hope one day my fiction and poems will be reaching a much bigger group of readers, and I can walk into Barnes & Noble and see my name on the binding of a brand-new, uncreased paperback.